Hide Behind Faces of Glass
by Purple Puffer Fish
Summary: Post 2x21. Elizabeth Keen faces a harsh, new world in the aftermath of being framed. Red tries to help.


**A/N: Greetings, friends. It has been far too long! I hope to soon get back into writing though, now because I am finally home for the summer (*crosses fingers that my online classes don't take too much effort*). So, I am aware I should be working on my other unfinished fics, but this little idea…more of a picture really, kept floating around in my head and I needed to get it out. I do so hope you enjoy it :D**

 **Hide Behind Faces of Glass**

The diner was nearly empty. Soon, its doors would be locked, and the few workers that remained would unceremoniously usher out the stray visitors. Scattered throughout the faux-retro establishment were various types, mainly comprised of haggard truck drivers that the diner appeared to so eagerly target. It _was_ the last proper eating establishment before one entered the city, after all. In another corner was a tired looking couple with a fussy baby, clearly vacationing if their Midwestern accent was any indication.

The vintage clock on the wall read 10:32, but to Elizabeth Keen, it felt like it was well into the early hours of the morning. She dared not look into any reflective surfaces, knowing full well that the bags under her eyes were prominent and developing still; it had been too long since she had last slept. Forty-nine hours, in fact. Tracing the tip of her index finger over the top of a mug who's coffee had long since grown cold, she sighed. This new life of a fugitive did not look good on her and she knew it. Her feet ached from wearing the same shoes for too long and she dreaded putting the restricting blazer that she had discarded on the seat next to her back onto her body. But, what was one to do when one only had several minutes to makes ones escape?

Had Liz still had her phone, it would have been vibrating with about the tenth message from Tom. She would have stopped listening after the sixth and ignored any further attempts at communication from the man for the time being. There were bigger matters to worry about. Absentmindedly did she raise the coffee mug to her lips, only to grimace and put it back down immediately after. Again, she sighed, running a hand through her hair and wondering to herself: _Why me, of all people_ …?

The sound of the bell at the front door signaled a new patron's arrival. It was 10:40 – the newcomer had plenty of time. What Liz did not expect, however, was for this new arrival to approach her table, and for them to be none other than Raymond Reddington himself. She hadn't the energy to gape, though she was aware she should be beyond even thinking about doing so by this point in the game. It riled her, to be sure, his…hovering when she had clearly made it known to him on multiple occasions that their relationship was strictly professional.

"What are you doing here, Lizzie?" he asked, vexed as he pulled out the chair across from her with no visible care to the screeching sound it made on the floor. The patrons that remained stared with raised eyebrows; Liz ground her teeth and held back the urge to curse him out, feeling a headache coming on. Beyond him, Dembe walked into the diner, taking up a table close by.

"Biding my time," she replied curtly. "I can't go back into the city and leaving the country is too risky at this point."

Red eyed the coffee mug before her in distaste for a moment. "I see. Well in that case I'll just have to get rid of that ticket to Bermuda I just went through the trouble of procuring. What a _horrible_ waste." He clicked his tongue at her and looked around the restaurant.

"Aren't they looking for you too…?" she ventured to inquire, voice tinged with an underlying annoyance. All airs of politeness had been shot to hell after the first twenty-four hours without sleep.

He gave a short chuckle, clearly not fazed. "Of course they are! In fact, I'm certain they aren't the only ones given my incredibly ill-famed reputation."

Liz stared at him with narrowed eyes, then said, "How did you find me here? I was careful – I made sure no one was tailing me this time."

"Funny you should ask that because I had no intention of finding you in the first place. Both Dembe and I just had this terrible hankering for French toast…"

"Oh. Really?"

"No. My people are just better than you think."

She contemplated those implications for a second, thinking back to all the people who had come and gone from the diner since she had set foot inside. There had been a slew of truckers who had tossed back a quick meal and left, followed by the vacationing couple who had made their exit moments before Red had arrived. That meant one of two things: the couple with the baby were working for Red – unlikely – or the tail had never entered the restaurant to begin with. It all seemed so trivial in light of everything.

He must have noticed her drifting because he canted his head and said, "What is your plan, here?"

"What do you mean?" Liz tried not to snap.

"Your _plan_. What are you trying to accomplish? You're barely out of the city."

"I could say the same thing to you."

Red's expression grew disparaging. "I have been under the authorities' radar for years, Lizzie. I'm not new to this game of cat and mouse, but you certainly are and it seems dreadfully cocky of you to be sticking around here when you should have been on the first flight out of the country."

Her face fell slightly, and naturally Red noticed straight away.

"If you need help, just ask for it."

"I'm fine. I just need to figure a few things out." He looked as though he wanted to say more regarding this false proclamation, but Liz gave him no chance. "Don't you have places to be?"

"Several," he replied almost amiably. "Hell, most are overseas and I should have left hours ago."

Liz produced a mirthless and nearly soundless laugh, peering into the cold mug before her. She still could not grasp the concept of how he remained so calm in situations that would turn her hair prematurely grey. She could physically feel her resolve wavering as the minutes ticked on and she _still_ had no idea where she was going to go or how she was going to get there. She had no car – she had paid a taxi driver a good sum to drive her to the diner in which she now sat earlier that evening, figuring she would be able to better plan out her next move there, but five hours later and endless cups of coffee had yielded no real strategy.

And there was Red, sitting across from her in all his apathetic finery, and she was sure that even if the world was burning, he would still find a way to make some crass joke out of it while sitting back with an expensive drink and newspaper. That's just the way he was. He appeared concerned at the present, though, eyes practically boring holes into her skull as she avoided looking at him.

"I don't know what to do, Red," she said to him at last, peering into the cold mug before her. Her mild antagonism had dissolved when the weight of reality settled heavily on her shoulders. "I could use some advice."

"That much has been apparent since day one" - the criminal fixed her with a knowing look – "but I can tell you the first step is to simply realize that much of this situation is out of your control. You need to think about what it is that you want to accomplish – you need to determine an endgame and make the necessary moves to meet your goals, something you clearly have yet to do."

It was odd hearing such a straightforward answer from Red, for once. Liz was nearly thrown for the loop at the simplicity of his explanation; it lacked all the usual subtext and nuances, sticking directly to the matter at hand.

"Where do I start?" Everything was beginning to feel all the more overwhelming.

"Let me help you," stated Red again. "I can keep you off the grid until everything finds its resolution."

It sounded like such a nice offer, it really did, but it was equally risky, if not more so, than going it alone.

Finally, "Thank you for the offer but I'll have to decline."

With this said, Liz grabbed her blazer from the seat next to her and stood, taking up her purse and fishing out far more money than the coffee she'd had was worth and placing it on the tabletop for the wait staff to find. It was nearly 11:00. She slipped her arms into the blazer and pulled it around her shoulders, all but ignoring the man who was in the process of standing.

"Lizzie…" she heard him say as she walked for the door. Dembe followed her with his eyes when she passed but stayed motionless.

The night with cold and she had started to shiver before she had even made it out to the road. She would need to make it to a motel far enough away from the city that she could rest for a day before continuing. It was just a matter of arriving at that destination.

She had made it a good ways up the road, aimlessly watching the dark horizon, when the black car pulled up next to her. The window rolled down, and from inside, Red griped, "Oh, for God's sake, Lizzie, stop looking pathetic and get in the damn car!" The door was pushed open for her – she stared at it.

She must have been a sight standing out on the side of a main road shivering like she had just trekked through the arctic. Red crossed his arms like a small child refusing to concede and repeated, "Get in the car. You're going to run out of time very soon." Lo and behold, she looked back and saw the unmistakable white of a police car nearing the diner. She was in the car and shutting the door in an instant, convincing herself that the demands she was about to make would hold.

But they didn't and she was wrong. She realized halfway to the motel at which she had all but _ordered_ Dembe to drop her off that it was only prolonging the inevitable collision of her inexperience and a confrontation with those who were searching for her. Oh, it took a lot for her to accept this, to be sure. She knew she was strong – and prideful on top of that – and she could hold her own, but this was growing increasingly beyond her knowledge.

"I…I can't do this on my own," she admitted very quietly, her voice nearly breaking. "I could probably manage for a few days…maybe even a week…but not for very long."

"I know," was all Red said in response.

Liz continued, "I was trained as a _profiler_ not a fugitive. If all I had to do to keep myself safe was sit at a desk and analyze criminal after criminal I would be fine but this is…this is different. I don't know anything about hiding from my own… _colleagues_."

Once more: "I know."

She looked at him, maintaining a slightly exaggerated physical distance. "It's not too late to take you up on that offer for assistance I hope?"

His expression was that of a man relieved. "Never." A beat passed between them before Red suggested, "Get some sleep. The drive is long and you will not be able to remain conscious much longer in your state."

Liz did not have to be told twice, leaning back against the seat. She vaguely heard Red giving instructions to Dembe, but only just, then everything faded into blissful darkness.

 **A/N: There ya have it! I love these two idiots so much :3 Anyway, thanks for reading! I would love to hear your thoughts :D**


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